


Mushrooms from Yuggoth

by Xaire



Series: Mushroom Series Thing From Yuggoth Written On Earth By A Human Thing [1]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom, Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft
Genre: >: ), Alien psychopaths, Creeps - Freeform, Drugs, Gen, HA! Just kidding. This story is really fucking offensive, I enjoy making you uncomfortable, I'm not really trying, Marijuana, Nope. Kidding again. No porn and absolutely no plot., Politically correct, Porn With Plot, Random Acts of Violence, Randomness, Seriously though: Fuck you!, Somewhere between troll Fic and Stephen King, Stupidity, Wizards, bullshit, fuck you, on top of more stupidity, pop culture stuffs, refrigerators
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-03-07 17:21:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13439589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xaire/pseuds/Xaire
Summary: Follow the ongoing expedition of Gil-M'yho and his clueless friends as they discover shit and make a bunch of pop culture references (while getting high)





	1. Doing the Fourth Wall

That fateful day of Gil-M'yho and Ph'tll Jik began just like any other: with the two Yuggothian scientists slouching on a couch, watching their routine reruns of some random and unbearably craptastic Earth show, which in this case was "The Golden Girls". Gil, about a week ago, decided that it would be best to learn as much as they possibly can about the current dominant species (being the "Hu-Mans") by continuously watching their electric brain-rot that they so appropriately called a "boob-tube", or television. Ph'tll, being the one who, mentally speaking, most closely resembles a human (which isn't a good thing at all), picks up on all the weird human tropes quicker than Gil can, so part of this daily viewing ritual involved Gil asking a near constant stream of questions while Ph'tll quickly answered them.

"So it's a show about a trio of old human females?" Gil asked, using one of his four claws to scratch his scabby, pink chest.

"Four." Ph'tll blurted.

"Four what?"

"There's four old women, not three."

"Where's the other one then? If there's supposed to four then why aren't there four?"

"Rose isn't in this episode." Ph'tll jammed the straw of his big-swig in the carnal hole that served as his mouth—carefully folded up underneath his fungal, ellipsoid head—and took an inappropriately loud slurp.

"Who's Rose?"

"The fourth woman you were bitching about!"

"I thought a rose was an Earth plant."

"Yeah, but…never mind. Let's watch something else." Ph'tll reached for the remote and started randomly flipping through channels. "I think I got 'Terminator' recorded on DVR."

"Which one?"

"'Terminator: Salvation'…I think?"

"Is that the one that sucks so bad?"

"No. You're thinking of 'Genesys'."

Without warning, Gil swiftly launched himself off the couch and downed whatever was left of this Doritos, after which he crumpled up the bag and carelessly threw it at his binge buddy's head. "Ph'tll, I'm done watching TV for today. The screen is starting to give me a brain-ache and it's almost time to clean the brain-jars."

Ph'tll let out an exaggerated groan. "I don't want to! Can't we put that off till tomorrow?"

"Look, we have to clean those jars everyday, alright, so putting it off till tomorrow wouldn't make any fucking sense at all. Besides, if we can get Meh off his fat ass and help, it won't take anymore than a few hours."

"Where the fuck is Jerry, then?"

"In Afghanistan. Remember, we sent him over there to see if Muslims were actually as bad as the guys on Fox News make them out to be?"

"Oh yeah. How's that going?"

"Don't know. Haven't heard back from him yet. He's probably been Jihaded by now."

"Jihaded?"

"Basically…its when…like, a Muslim…I think it means 'war'…or something. Whatever. Point is, they probably killed him by now. Especially since, you know, he's a blasphemous snow monster or whatever the fuck the humans call us." Gil sarcastically remarked.

"Mi-go?"

"DON'T SAY THAT!"

"Ah! Okay!" After an awkward pause, during which he took a long swig of his Gatorade, Ph'tll continued. "I wish Bill can help…"

"Well he can't. Because he's a refrigerator." Gil began walking to the back room, but stopped and turned to Ph'tll and emphasized: "And he's a retarded refrigerator at that!"

Suddenly, Ph'tll turned to the left and addressed some unseen entity in the corner. "Oh, hello viewer! You may be slightly confused right now…"

"What the fuck are you doing, Ph'tll? Who are you talking to?"

"Them."

"What?!"

"The guys beyond the Fourth Wall!"

"What Fourth Wall?!"

"That Fourth Wall!" Ph'tll snapped, pointing to the Fourth Wall.

"I don't see anything! You're talking to a fucking wall!"

"Yeah! The Fourth Wall!"

"What the fuck is a Fourth Wall?!"

"Just shut up and let me talk to the fucking readers!"

"What…you know what? I don't care. Have fun with your weirdness, jackass." Gil then stormed out, probably leaving to clean those brain-jars he was talking about earlier or eat a shit ton of potato chips while trying to reason with Bill the Retarded Refrigerator.

Meanwhile, Ph'tll returned to addressing the viewer—a.k.a: you—so listen up. "Sorry about that. Where was I? Olay, so you're probably confused right now, which is very normal when a dim-witted ape is met by a super advanced creature from beyond time and space.

"First off: we're a race of beings simply known as Yuggothians. As you may have guessed, we come from the planet Yuggoth…which is basically on the outer rim of this solar system. Actually, that Yuggoth in specific is Yuggoth-567, which is one of thousands of colonies in the Yuggoth Empire. Some of you may know us better as the 'Mi-go', which, I'll have you know, is a very offensive name for us. We are neither abominable nor are we snowmen. Alright? If you still don't understand, then do a fucking Google search on us, geniuses.

"Second: We are on your planet, not become we want to be, but because we are doing research on your species. Basically we might destroy all of humanity one day, so our superiors want us to get a feel of your kind before that happens, know what I mean? Oh, and we want brains. Don't ask why; we just want brains. So since this miraculous Fourth Wall is here…" Ph'tll turned in the direction of the back room and buzzed: "THAT IS ACTUALLY HERE…"

"FUCK YOU!" Gil buzzed back.

Ph'tll turned back, shaking his head in disbelief. "So since this Fourth Wall is here we might as well let you have an exclusive look at our daily lives and shit. Alright, let me Introduce you to the gang. I'm Ph'tll, the expert on human behavior. Take solace in the fact that if its one alien monster that can truly understand you, it's me! Also take comfort in the fact that I fucking loath each and every one of you!" Ph'tll swore, showing the Fourth Wall the weird digit that counted as his middle finger. "The douchebag in the back is our 'leader', Gil-M'yho…"

"I HEARD THAT!"

"DO SOMETHING!"

"FUCK YOU!"

"FUCK YOU! Sorry. Anyways, Shrdvahczyufggjjbbbbb Bdtgvhdd is our field operative. Since his name is beyond unpronounceable, even by Yuggothian standards, we just call him Jerry. Meh is our…well I'm not sure what he does. He just kinda loafs around all day; doesn't really do anything else. Yeah. He's the office slacker. Fun fact about Meh: all he ever says is 'meh'. I don't know why he does that. Zyz is our supervisor stationed on Ol' 567, so you'll see him pop in every so often.

"Let's see…who else?

"Oh! Bill the Retarded Refrigerator! That's not a cheesy nickname, folks, he really is a talking refrigerator that is—by human standards—a complete and total retard in every reasonable sense…so don't get all PC on us. If that doesn't make sense, then that probably means you're an idiot, but just for knowledges sake we'll tell his story later."

"ARE YOU STILL TALKING TO THAT FUCKING WALL?!"

"DUDE, WILL YOU FUCK OFF?!…Oh, by the way. You may recall from the beginning of this chapter that this particular day was referred to as 'fateful', and rightfully so, you probably expect something fateful to happen. Guess what? That was a hook you dumb monkeys! What? You think something cool and cataclysmic is going to happen just because our day is 'fateful'? All days are technically fateful! But if you want something dramatic to happen, then consider this the unholy day you got hooked on 'Mushrooms from Yuggoth'. Anyways, peace out guys!"

"SHUT UP PH'TLL!"


	2. Hey look, Night Gaunts

At about three a.m.—human time, not Yuggoth time—the cheap nineties phone next to Gil's bed rang, awakening him. He groaned aloud, pulling the ultra-Comfortable blanket over his weird head as the phone rang once…twice…thrice…then it became apparent to Gil that whoever the fuck was calling him this early in the morning wasn't letting up, so instead of answering it he tried knocking the damn phone off the nightstand.

It still rang.

"Damn it!" He yelled, siting up. He quickly picked up the receiver and yelled into the mic. "Do you have any idea what time it is you fucking cunt?!?!" It was then he got a good look at the caller ID. He groaned when saw it was Zyz.

"Okay, first off," Gil's supervisor began. "What's a cunt, and what makes me a cunt?"

"Uhh…" Gil was at an complete loss of words.

"Never mind. Second: I have an idea I wanna pitch. Wanna hear it?"

"Is it alright if I say 'no'?"

"Is it alright if I say 'no' to your 'no'?" Before Gil could answer, Zyz continued. "Just kidding, that was rhetorical! Yeah, you have no choice in this."

"You dick."

"Anyways, I want to set up a visual communication system…you know, like in those sci-fi movies."

"What? You called me at three in the morning just to tell me that?"

"Yup! I started thinking 'Hey! Sending messages via phone kinda sucks! Let's mix it up a bit'. So I decided to do something about it and…"

"So you want to talk face-to-face, virtually speaking, from now on?"

"Kinda sorta, yes."

"No."

"You don't have a choice, remember?"

"I can't afford another TV, asshole!"

"Yes you can! I know you and your dipshits like to rob banks for fun!"

"We rob ghetto banks."

"And ghetto banks don't offer enough dough?!"

"We got, like, sixty thousand from the last heist! That's not much!"

"What the fuck?! That's plenty enough to buy a TV!"

"Did I mention I don't want to set up a fucking visual communication system!?"

"Enough arguing! Set up your end of the line by six this evening or I'll…uh…"

"You'll what?"

"I'll withhold your W2!"

"What W2? I don't pay taxes!"

"Then I'll mail you a Shoggoth!"

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me bitch!"

There was an awkward silence for about three minutes where the two Yuggothians were waiting for something else to happen before Gil final conceded. "Ghroth dammit. Fine I'll set up your fucking visual whatever!"

"Awesome!" Zyz exclaimed in an almost child-like way. Then he hung up, leaving Gil cursing under his breath. He groped around his lightless room for a moment before he found his dresser (or whatever the Yuggothian equivalent of a dresser is) and his stupid-looking Earth money holder-thing sitting on top. After fingering through the disheveled wallet, he found three one-hundred dollar bills.

He lazily shuffled down the dark hallway, eventually finding the door to Ph'tll's room. He knocked and waited for a response.

Nothing came.

He knocked again, this time not waiting for response, but instead, unceremoniously walking in to find the snoring lump of fungus beneath the bedsheets that was Ph'tll. Gil grabbed the nearest object (which happened to be a foam baseball bat) and started smacking Ph'tll with it while buzzing at intervals "Wake up…Wake up…Wake up…"

Finally he heard Ph'tll groan something he presumed was a labored "a…wha…?"

"Oh good. You're awake." Gil smacked his coworker with the bat one more time.

"What time is it?" Ph'tll moaned.

"About three-something."

"In the morning?"

"Yes, dipshit. In the morning. I need you to do me a favor."

"Solid…"

"What?"

"You owe me…" Ph'tll yawned while trying to sit up. "…a solid."

"Whatever. Here, take this." He fished his three-hundred dollars out of his nasty flesh folds and jutted it in Ph'tll's direction.

At the sight of the cash, Ph'tll perked up, eyeing the wad in confused joy. "Rad! A raise!"

"No, it's not a raise. I need you to take this and go buy a TV."

"A TV?"

"What the fuck did you think I just said? Yes, a TV!"

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

"Why?"

"Don't ask why! Just do as I command!"

"It's three in the morning! What electronics store would be open at three in the morning?!"

"That place down town. Know what I'm talking about? I think they're open twenty-four seven."

"What place? I don't know any outlet down town."

"Down town, you know. Down town."

"What the fuck, dude! That doesn't help at all!"

"Just go buy a damn TV."

"Hell no!" Ph'tll cursed.

"Stop bitching and go do it!"

"We got a TV here!"

"Yeah, but Jerry pissed in it, remember?"

"Is that why it keeps bursting into flames?"

"I think. Look, if you go buy the TV, then you can keep the change."

"Okay. But I'm buying that fucker pretty cheap though. "

"No!" Gil smacked Ph'tll with the bat again. "You will buy a new model, high def flatscreen plasma TV…that isn't used!"

Ph'tll blew a mocking raspberry. "Whatever." Ph'tll shot up, standing erect on his bed with his vast wings majestically spread. He leapt upwards and flew towards the window…but ended up ramming the wall next to the window instead. A very loud and nasty crunch sounded through the house as Ph'tll Impacted with the wall and then crumpled onto floor, all the while screaming "OW! FUCK!!! FUCK FUCK FUCK!!! THAT HURT!! FUCK!!!"

"Wow. That was smooth." Gil sarcastically retorted, casting aside the foam bat.

Ph'tll managed to stick his crooked middle finger at his boss and buzzed "Fuck you.". He then proceeded to painstaking lift his busted-up body off the ground while hissing and moaning in pain. After getting to his feet (or whatever the fuck Yuggothians walk on), he took a very very very very very long moment to catch his breath and let his wings un-wrinkle. He tried straightening out his crooked limbs, but every time he moved his broken…uh, exoskeleton…an unbelievably intense pang of pain shot through his body, forcing him to yelp. Finally, Ph'tll turned to Gil—who was trying his damnedest not to laugh—and asked "You got any aspirin?"

"What do ya need aspirin for?" Gil returned through a stifled laugh.

"You know why you piece of shit!" Ph'tll showed him one of his broken arms. "Screw it, I'm leaving."

"Don't forget the TV."

Gil watched, almost wishing he had a video camera, as Ph'tll sluggishly slipped out the window, falling onto the unkept bushes outside. He watched as his human-expert-guy limped into the street and down the sidewalk, slowly making his way down town.

Gil cupped his claws around the spot where a mouth would ordinarily be and yelled out the window "HAIL A CAB, DUMBASS!"

By now, Ph'tll was already three blocks away, so it was almost impossible to hear him yell "WHAT CAB RUNS THIS EARLY IN THE MORNING?! ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW?!"

Before Gil could shout some smart-ass comment, he noticed a swarm of huge bats darting around in the night sky above, flashing in and out of visibility in front of the full moon. Then Gil noticed that those bats were very humanoid in appearance while sporting curved horns and barbed tails…an absolutely no face.

"DUDE, WATCH OUT FOR THOSE NIGHT GAUNTS!" Gil yelled.

"NIGHT WHAT? WHAT DID YOU…" Before Ph'tll could finish, three Gaunt's swooped down from above and seized the crippled Yuggothian in their intrusive claws. Gil watched—again wishing he had a camera—as Ph'tll was lifted into the air, screaming "OH GHROTH NO!! NO!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!?!", writhing around like a worm.

The night gaunt's lifted him higher into the air, diving deeper and deeper into the night and eventually disappearing.

"He'll be fine." Gil said rather nonchalantly. He went back to bed as if one of his guys weren't just abducted by faceless monsters.

 

 


	3. The Horror on the Jumbotron

Six-o-clock eventually rolled around and Ph'tll didn't show up with the TV. Was Gil surprised? Nope. Pissed, but not at all surprised. Aside from being adducted by night gaunt's, Ph'tll had another good reason for being late: he was an incompetent jackass who was probably stuck at Best Buy or whatever trying to hopelessly find the TV section…even if there was a huge ass label above said section that read "TELEVISIONS!".

So Gil stood, looking out the window for about four fucking hours, staring at the street on the other side of their unkept lawn and waiting for their (stolen) station wagon. In best hopes, Ph'tll would arrive with a decent TV that was only of marginally piss-poor quality. However, Gil knew that, realistically, Ph'tll would probably arrive with an iPad or a hand held radio claiming "It's better than a TV!", and then they would have to go and buy a real TV, and incidentally pissing off Zyz, who was still waiting to for his live-chat-whatever-thing.

What Ph'tll actually arrived with was far worse than what Gil was expecting.

Instead of the half broken down station wagon with a TV-sized box strapped to the top, Ph'tll pulled up in a mother fucking flatbed truck! Gil ran out onto the front yard as the truck was backing into the driveway. He noticed the twenty-foot, rectangular mass stabbed onto the bed of the truck and immediately thereafter, noticed Ph'tll's color changing head hanging out the driver side window, buzzing "Hey! What's up boss?"

Gil came to a halt right in front of the truck's tarp-shrouded load, pressing his claws to the sides of his head. "What the fuck!" He buzzed. He turned his attention to Ph'tll just as he was stepping out of the cab. "Explain!" Gil shouted, pointing at the load.

"That?" Ph'tll said, jerking a "thumb" at what Gil was pointing at. "That is an electronic LED visual monitoring device…jumbo sized!"

"That's a TV?! Try shitting me again and I'll throat chop you so fucking hard your retarded head will come right off! Tell me what it really is!"

Ph'tll recoiled from Gil's threat, looking mildly offended. "You're right. It's not a TV; it's better than a TV!" (Dammit, Gil was right!) "This, my dear friend, is a jumbotron!" He grabbed hold of the tarp and flicked it off in one clumsy movement. The thing beneath looked just like a television, as Ph'tll said, except it was massive.

"Why did you buy this?!" Gil buzzed.

"Why not buy it?"

"Ph'tll, it's huge! How are we going to fit that into house?"

"Uh…You know what? I haven't thought about that."

Gil face-palmed. "Why am I not surprised?"

"But does that really mater?" Ph'tll tried to amend. "Who's never wanted a gigantic TV in their front yard? It could be cool!"

"Again. Why did you buy this?"

"Well, I tried that place you told me about and the cheapest TV they had was, like, four-hundred something rather, so obviously I couldn't buy anything there. Then I went to Walmart, but they didn't have any good TVs. Finally I went to some pawn shop with a weird name; they had no TVs, but of all things they had this Jumbotron." he patted the massive screen. "So I thought 'Why the fuck not? Bigger is better after all!'. So I sealed the deal and here I am."

Gil was hardly listening at this point. Something odd about the Jumbotron had caught his attention. He couldn't tell what it was, for at first glance everything seemed normal about the Jumbotron, but he couldn't help feeling as if there was some massively fucked up and/or upsetting aspect of the device. "Ph'tll?"

"Yeah?"

"Where did you say you got this from?"

"Uh. Some pawn shop. I think it was called…Fitherfibber…nickup…uh…"

"F'tib bih?"

"Ghlober nibber…"

"N'kai pgh Uh…"

"Dhh…Err…Reelay?"

"Oh my Ghroth!" Gil suddenly exclaimed.

"What?"

"You fucking dumbass! You bought this as Fl'Tib Bigh'eh N'kai Pdg eth's R'lyeh!"

"So?" Ph'tll's claws went up in an exaggerated shrug.

"That's an eldritch pawn shop! You bought something at an eldritch pawn shop! That's not good!"

"An eldritch what?!"

Gil sighed and pinched the the nonexistent bridge of his nonexistent nose. That had to have been the dumbest question Ph'tll has ever asked him. "An eldritch pawnshop. Honestly, there is no telling what the fuck this thing is supposed to do considering it's Old One grade technology."

"I'm pretty sure this is a jumbotron."

"Yeah, it probably is a jumbotron, but it could display images from the fourth dimension or show colors unknown to our visible spectrum…or maybe even summon an Outer God! Point is if we use this then there could be very horrific consequences."

"Can't be that bad. We've gone across the universe and seen all kinds of weird shit. There's no way this thing could be, you know, catastrophic or whatever."

"Ph'tll, for all we know this could have been Cthulhu's TV."

"So?"

"Do you really want to use a device that the lord of madness used to mellow out?"

"Look, let's just plug it in and see how it works. If it's too bad—which it won't be—then I'll take it back and buy a Sony. If it's okay…"

"If it's okay" Gil interrupted. "then you're still going to take it back. Again, it's too fucking big. We're not getting it in the house."

"Feh. Whatever." Ph'tll went around to the other side of the house and came back two minutes later with an extension cord wrapped around his claw. He plugged one end into an outlet that was conveniently set into the facade of the house and dragged the rest of the cord to the jumbotron and groped around the back of it for somewhere to plug it in. "You know what?" Ph'tll suddenly said. "I don't think this thing is as alien as we think it is. It actually accepts HDMI."

"And how many other strange and unsettling cable outlets are there?" Gil asked in a mater-of-fact tone.

"I really can't tell you. Fifty? Maybe three-thousand."

"You do realize there's a huge gap between fifty and three-thousand, right? How the hell are so uncertain about something like that?"

"Dude, lay off. The dimensions of this thing are really, really fucked up. I shit you not, I'm really starting to question the nature of my own existence because of how weird this jumbotron is."

"Only you would be so stupid to start pondering your life because of a fucking vid-monitor."

There's was a loud snapping sound and the screen started coming to life, albeit slower than the screen of a '50's television. "Is it on?" Ph'tll asked, coming around to the front of the jumbotron.

"I guess."

"Damn, this thing takes takes a while."

They both watched as the black screen slowly faded into a shifting ensemble of color, not unlike television snow but at the same time very different.

"What kind of input did you put into it?" Gil asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you hook it up to our cable or a DVD player or…"

"No. I just turned the power on." The colors began to shift in a really trippy, kaleidoscopic way, moving faster and faster.

"Okay. I guess the thing just does this?"

Ph'tll shrugged.

"Yeah, you're taking this back. This is way too weird."

"Alright…WOAH!" Ph'tll gasped, staring at the blasphemous shape that manifested on the screen.

"Wha…Oh my Ghroth!" Gil too was petrified by the horror on the jumbotron. "What the mother fucking fuck is that?!"

"I don't know!"

"Get rid of it!" Gil screeched, covering his optical organs.

"I can't!"

"Dammit, Ph'tll! This is all your fault! You should have bought a regular fucking TV like I told you to!"

"I WANT YOUR SOULS!" The high pitched voice of hell scraped out of the speakers, prompting Ph'tll to dash inside the house, screaming, and leaving Gil to shriek and cry beneath the jumbotron showing a writhing, unnameable thing more horrifying than the anus of Azathoth.

Seconds later, Ph'tll had ran back out carrying an AK-47 in each claw. He clumsily pointed his rifles at the jumbotron and fired. They both watched as the screen exploded into a million fragments as bullet after bullet after bullet rapidly tore through the evil device. When Ph'tll finally halted his barrage, the jumbotron was nothing more than a scattered mess of debris.

"Okay, that was weird." Ph'tll said, casually dropping his AK's.

"Geez, ya fucking think?!" Gil snapped.

"I just want it noted that I saved both of our lives."

"Bullshit. You brought that fucking thing into our yard."

"Indeed I did. I…Dude, what the hell are you looking at?"

Gil turned to see the guy Ph'tll was addressing: a middle aged man wearing nothing but sweatpants and flip flops. An ugly shitzu was tied to the end of a leash the guy was holding. "Uh, what's up? What's going on neighbor?" the human waved.

"Go away Doug." Gil said.

"Was that a jumbotron?" Doug pointed to the mess on the flatbed.

"That's none of your fucking business." Gil buzzed.

"Yes it was." Ph'tll answered. "We were just watching…stuff. Like…fetish video stuff."

"Fetish videos?" Gil cringed.

"Nice! What kind of fetish videos?" Doug asked, elated.

"Woman putting their greasy feet in get-the-fuck-out-of-our-yard-before-I-kill-you-ya-perverted-creep." Ph'tll threatened as he leveled one of the AK's at the ground around Doug's feet and fired a few warning shots. Doug and his dog recoiled as the rounds impacted just inches away from him.

Doug melodramatically shook his fist and said "You haven't heard the last of me, aliens!"

The man ran off and Ph'tll called out after him "WE'RE NOT ALIENS, WE HAVE DEFORMITIES! DON'T BE ASSUMING SHIT, BIGOT!" He then turned to Gil and said "See, I told you that guy was a creep. How much you want to bet he's a registered sex offender?"

Gil ignored him, burying his "face" in his claw. "This day has been way too fucked up. I'm gonna go take a nap. Ph'tll, you and Meh go buy another damn TV." Gil then started for the front door, but then suddenly turned and asked "By the way, how did you escape those night gaunts?"

"I didn't. They let me go…after they spent all morning gang banging me." 


	4. kicking Ass in Kingsport

They were lost.

They planned on taking a simple, ten minute trip to the Best Buy at the Virginia Oaks City Mall but got stuck in five-o-clock traffic, took a detour, and somehow managed to end up in North Carolina. How the fuck that happened, neither Ph'tll nor Meh had any clue. They just knew that they were driving somewhere on an isolated road in the middle of a forest at nine-o-clock in the afternoon. Meh had a map, but the problem was that both of them were barely literate and both had no clue which way was North. All they saw was a random assortment of lines and symbols under a heading that read "Southern Florida".

"We're so fucking lost." Ph'tll groaned, driving as he watched the gas gauge slowly creeping to the red "E".

Meh looked up from his map and pointed in a seemingly random direction, and in response, Ph'tll looked away from the gauge and gave his passenger a sidelong glance.

"What?" He lazily mimicked Meh's gesture. "What the fuck does this mean? What are you pointing at?"

"Meh."

"Turn left? We've been riding an unbroken road for three hours and suddenly you know when to turn left?"

Meh tapped the map. "Meh."

"White Collie Drive? You sure?"

Meh nodded.

"How long?"

"Meh."

"Okay, if you don't know that then can you tell me how many miles till?"

"Meh." He held up two digits.

"Two miles then."

Long story short: two miles later, no left turn.

"Meh."

"You think?! It's pretty obvious you undershot!"

"Mehmeh!"

"Is White Collie Drive even on the map?"

"Meh?"

"Yes that's a reasonable question! Seriously though, what city are we in?"

"Meh?"

"First it was Pautuk, then Fernville, then Birmingham, and now we're in Orlando? What kind of map are you reading?"

Meh took a prolonged glance at the map, turning it this way and that until his head beamed the colors of realization. "Meh!"

"That's a map of Florida?! Ghroth dammit! There is no fucking White Collie Drive!"

"Meh." He shrugged.

"Aw, we are so fucked! We have no clue where we are!" Following up on the last syllable, the "low gas" warning light started blinking and pinging. "Fuck! We need gas! Please let there be a station nearby."

"Meh eh."

"You happen to have a twenty on you?"

Meh gestured for Ph'tll to wait a moment and started rummaging through his purse (yes, Meh has a purse. Why? Because why not?) and eventually pulled out, not a paper bill, but a penny. A single penny. Ph'tll gave his partner the same kind of what-da-fuck stare one would give if they were asked "Do you want to keep your ears?"

"Meh, that's a penny."

Meh nodded, seemingly proud of his one cent.

"A gallon of gas cost three fucking dollars, dude. We can't buy shit with that!" He said, pointing at the coin. "Don't you have anything else?"

Meh took another not-so-thorough search, then looked back up and shook his head at the driver.

"Dammit."

"Meh?"

"I don't have a debit card. Or a credit card."

"Meh."

"So neither of us has any money and we've got to buy a TV…on top of gas…before tomorrow…and we still have no clue where we are…Fuck, we're so screwed."

"Meh."

"We're in the middle of nowhere. There is no bank."

Meh pointed out the windshield at an approaching sign, slowly becoming more luminous in the station wagon's headlights. It read: "WELCOME TO KINGSPORT!"

"How the hell did we end up in Massachusetts?" Ph'tll asked, hoping for some kind of answer.

Meh only shrugged.

"Whatever. Hopefully they have a Regions or a Well's Fargo or something."

"Meh."

"You have a bad feeling about this? I have a bad feeling, too. It's caused by going twenty-four hours without any KFC."

"Meh?"

"We're getting lunch after we hit the gas station. That's what I was implying."

Not long after passing the sign, the bordering forest abruptly vanished and was instantly replaced by the creepy-ass spires and winding avenues and fucked-in-the-head cultist people of Kingsport. The ocean could be seen beyond the roofs under the unnatural light of the moon. Overlooking this were the totally unrealistically high cliffs crowed by the Strange High-House in the Mist…which Ph'tll read about once in a tourist brochure.

After searching for no more than five minutes they found a dingy looking Regions with a homeless guy standing out front doing…homeless guy stuff. As they pulled up, they passed the hobo who regarded them with the kind of stare that practically screams "I'm whacked out on crack! Can I rape you?"

"That guy freaks me out." Ph'tll whispered. The homeless man continued to eye their station wagon, licking his lips for whatever reason.

They swerved into the drive through teller, stopping in front of a window that was covered in so much crud it was literally opaque. "Welcome to Regions. How can I help you?" A very bored sounding voice emanated from a set of speakers that didn't work very well. Ph'tll could barely make out the outline of the teller on the other side of the window.

Ph'tll stuck his head out the car and buzzed "I would like to make a withdraw."

"Meh?" Meh whispered.

"An account? What the hell are you talking about?" Ph'tll whispered back.

"How much would you like to withdraw?" The teller asked.

"Four hundred…?"

"Alright. I just need your name and account number."

"Account number?"

"Yes. If you have an account with Regions, then you must have an account number."

"Uh…Am I supposed to have an account?" Ph'tll didn't notice Meh face-palming.

"Yeah. That's how a bank works. If you have any money here then you have an account."

"I just wanted to borrow some money. I didn't know I needed a fucking account!"

"Dude, are you serious?" The teller sounded sincerely dumbfounded. "Did you really think the purpose of a bank was to just hand out free money to anyone?"

"I thought that's what a credit card was! Free money!"

"For account holders!"

"Well can you just spare a measly four hundred?" Ph'tll tried sounding as sweet as he possibly could, unaware that he actually sounded more like a lunatic.

"Nope. Sorry."

"You bastards are so fucking greedy, you know that? All I'm asking for is just four hundred bucks!"

"We can't just give you money! Your welcome to create an account and receive a credit card today, but otherwise we're not giving you any money!"

"You're a dick! I outta kick your ass!" Ph'tll threatened.

"Meh…"

"Not now man. I got this." Ph'tll said to Meh, afterward returning to the teller. "I'll take you on now, bitch!"

"What the fuck is your damage!?" teller-guy snapped.

"My damage?! All I wanted was four hundred fucking dollars, and you had to make a big deal out of it!"

"You're out of touch!"

"No! _You're_ out of touch!"

"For the last time, I can't give you money if you don't have any money here! It's basic logic!"

"You suck, ass-wipe!"

"What?!"

"You fucking suck…"

"MEH!" Meh interrupted, obviously expressing discomfort.

"Cool it, Meh. I'm almost done here."

"Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." The teller said.

"I'm not going anywhere! Not until I get my four hundred!"

"Then I'll boot your ass myself! How would you like that?"

"Do it, bro! I'm gonna deck your punk ass and plow your skank wife afterwards!"

Meh recoiled a little after hearing that. He foresaw the shit fest hitting the fan. "Meh." He motioned for Ph'tll to leave immediately, but Ph'tll just waved him off.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY 'BOUT MY WIFE!?!?" The teller roared.

"I said…"

"YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD YOU LITTLE CUNT!!!" And with that last bit of foul language, teller-guy hung up and apparently ran off.

Meh motioned for Ph'tll to leave again, but the driver just gave a snide chuckle. "No, man. I'm staying for this one. I can't wait to learn that dude some respect!" He sounded like a child about to go in a bounce house.

"Meh!"

"Trust me, Meh. I got this. I'll beat down that guy, get my four hundred…"

"Mehmeh!"

"Well…now I know I need an account, but still, it's the principal of the matter. I asked for money so I should get money. That's how it worked on Yuggoth, and they only go through a recession once a year."

"Meh." He groaned, cupping his pulpy face in his claws.

"I am not a douche. You can say I'm a douche all you like, but that does not make me a douche."

Meh looked up from his claws and out the driver-side window, which Ph'tll was completely ignoring. Bursting out one of the bank's glass doors and striding gangster-like into the night came an incredibly pale and incredibly muscular bald man who had to have been over seven feet tall. He wore a dark suit and a Regions name-tag that read "HENRY". The the rage distorted face and blood-red cheeks and forehead was all it took to tell Meh that "Henry" was the bank teller that Ph'tll pissed off.

And that behemoth was charging for their station wagon like a train going on roid-rage.

"Meh!" Meh pointed past his companion, his head quickly shifting to the color set that indicated fear.

"Oh, he's coming? Nice!" Ph'tll still didn't look out the window. Henry was quickly getting closer.

"Meh! Meh!" He jabbed his claw/finger past Ph'tll a few more times.

"I don't know what you're so worked up over. He's just a bank teller." Ph'tll shrugged and casually looked out the window just in time to see Henry storm across the last few feet to their car, stopping just outside the driver-side door. Ph'tll could barely get out an "OH SHIT!!!" before the dude's massive fist crashed through the window, sending shards of glass all over the two Yuggothians. Henry then slammed those fist into Ph'tll's face-thingy, afterwards working his beefy fingers around the neck-like structure that connected Ph'tll's head-thing to his body (why not call it a neck? Why not call Cthulhu a squid since he kinda looks like one? : p ) and tried yanking the thrashing alien out of the car. Ph'tll tried bracing himself against the steering wheel and seat, but the teller's strength was about to win over.

"Meh! Help me!" Ph'tll buzzed in a panic. He managed to turn his head just enough to see that Meh was no longer there, the passenger door hanging wide open telling how he had bailed. In fact, Ph'tll could see his companion running down the street out of the corner of his optical organs. "YOU BASTARD!!" Ph'tll yelled at the fleeing Meh, right before he was violently yanked out of the car, thrown onto the concrete, and had his ass literally handed to him. 


	5. Remember When I Said 'Random Acts of Violence' in the Tags? Yeah. I Wasn't Kidding. So, Fuck You

What time was it?

Who the fuck the knows. Who the fuck cares. Ph'tll sure as hell didn't know nor did he care. All he cared about was that he was laying on the sidewalk in front of Regions with every bone in his body broken and almost every organ ruptured. He hurt like hell. Like, kidney stone kind of hurt…but worse. His fucking blood was everywhere, a puddle of green ichor caking the sidewalk and branching a trail that led all the way to the drive-thru teller, from which he was presumably dragged. The sun was in the sky was beating down on his almost as hard as that douchebag Henry (Good Ghroth, that's such a fag name!) did.

And of course, Meh was still gone. That dick didn't come back for him.

Ph'tll sat up, trying his damnedest to ignore the pain in his…in his everywhere. He could feel the slowly melding pieces of his bones and exoskeleton grinding against each other as he moved.

"AWWWWWWW!" Ph'tll painfully groaned, successfully getting on his foot-thingys. He looked around, noting that this particular block of Kingsport was completely deserted, himself being the only living being to be seen (There were a few pigeons sitting on some telephone cables, both those little fuckers didn't count). He guessed that everyone was probably in their respective basements fucking goats or talking to beer bottles or whatever the hell cultist like to do. "MEH!" He called out, hearing his drone of a voice echo through the street. "WHERE ARE YOU?! I'M GONNA KNOCK THE FUCK OUT OF YOU WHEN I FIND YOU, YOU TRAITOROUS PIECE OF SHIT!!"

There was no response. Just the aforementioned pigeons taking casual shits on the ground next to Ph'tll. He craned his neck to "eye" the birds and showed them his middle finger, which was bent in the wrong direction. He turned to see his station wagon was pulled from the drive-thru into the bank's parking lot. Aside from the broken window it looked untouched.

He walked over to his car and climbed inside, trying to ignore the missing window, the glass shards all over the fucking seat (his ass hurt), and the fact that some of his blood was on the steering wheel. Apparently, Henry had left the keys in the ignition, possibly as either a "Get the hell out of here ASAP before I put my size twenty boot up your anus" gesture or a "Key's in the ignition! Come steal this alien jack-off's car!" kind of gesture.

Ph'tll reeeeeaaally wanted to have at that guy.

He turned the key and listened to the engine turn over in a series of disheartening clicks and grinding noises before falling silent. He tried again only to be met with the same results. Remembering that the station wagon was running dangerously low on gas, Ph'tll realized why the car wouldn't start. He let out a groan of defeat and let his head-thingy fall and thump against the wheel.

He walked the city streets for hours, still encountering no one, which was good because that meant no one would see Ph'tll sluggishly limping down the sidewalk, dragging behind him his broken limbs, which were still leaving a trail of blood. The bleeding probably would have clogged by now if he didn't pop a bunch blood-thinners on the ride there. Ph'tll still has no clue why he did that.

"MEH! DUDE, WHERE ARE YOU?" Ph'tll called out again. By chance or by fate, he happened to cross by a Burger King in the area of town that was probably the ghetto. There, visible in the front window, sat Meh, going to town on a Whopper. "That motherfucker…" Ph'tll cursed under his breath (Do the Mi-go breath? How the fuck am I supposed to know?! Stop asking questions!), pissed that his buddy was eating burgers while he was getting his ass kicked.

He stormed into the Burger King, trying his best not to flip off the dinging entry bell.

There was a bored looking Mexican chick at the counter, chewing on a wad of gum the size of a fist. Annoyingly, she looked like a cow doing that. "Welcome to Burger King. May I take your order?" She mooed with a loud smack of her gum.

Ph'tll wanted to ignore her and go directly to Meh, but he couldn't resist the urge to turn and yell at the cashier "Does it look like I want anything right now?!" He spread his arms, making sure the woman could see all his bruises and fractures in his exoskeleton.

The cashier simply gave the alien an indifferent look, still shifting her jaw with every loud, smacking chew on her gum.

Ph'tll gave the restaurant a quick skim before finding Meh sitting in a grease stained booth, still chowing down on his Whopper. Several spent burger wrappers were scattered across the table, even half burying his twenty-ounce drink. Apparently he didn't notice Ph'tll until he strode over to his booth and slammed a fist down on the table to grab his attention.

"What. The. FUCK?!" Exclaimed Ph'tll slipping himself in the seat opposite of Meh's.

Meh recoiled at his comrades sudden appearance, nearly dropping his meal. "Meh?"

"Don't 'meh?' me! You know what you did!"

"Meh meh. Eh meh."

"You ditched me, asshole! I could have died!"

"Meh!" He shrugged.

"Bullshit! There was a gun in the glovebox. You could have easily capped him!"

Meh put down his burger and steepled his claws in front of him. "Meh meh meh. Meh?"

"Why would you ask that?! Of course I'm mad!" Ph'tll gestured towards his half caved in chest, which still seeped blood. "I've got internal damage out the wazoo! Every fucking rib in my…"

"Meh!" The alien accused, jutting a finger in Ph'tll's face thingy.

"Don't change the subject! I could have gone to the hospital if I had a fucking car!"

"Meh?" He cocked his head, letting his claws fall on the mustard encrusted wrappers.

"The car ran out of gas. I had to hoof it until—lo and behold!—I find your fat ass here eating fucking fast food while I was lying half dead on the motherfucking sidewalk!"

Meh let out a sigh, then showed Ph'tll his palms in a conceding gesture. "Meh."

"Of course you fucked up! I don't need to hear it from you to know that you fucked up!"

"Meh eh."

"I get it, okay." Ph'tll groaned, putting his claw to his forehead. "You were scared. You panicked. I probably would have done the same thing. But still, you could have called for help! Instead, you're here eating a damn burger! I mean… come on! Really!? I know your whole schtick is that your lazy as fuck, but what the fuck, man?!"

Meh eyed his buddy with a mix of remorse and annoyance (something only Meh could convincingly pull off) and after a tense moment, offered Ph'tll the remains of his burger. Ph'tll returned the annoyed stare as Meh still expectantly held the burger between them.

"Really?"

Meh nodded.

"You think you can patch shit up by giving me a half eaten burger?"

"Meh." Meh corrected.

"Whopper…whatever! It's gonna take a lot more than your table scraps to fix this, man!"

Meh slyly waved the Whopper around as if to say "I know you want this."

Ph'tll crossed his arms, leaned back, and continued to beam disdain, occasionally shifting his disgusted gaze at the burger and then right back to Meh. Finally, he abruptly snatched the burger from Meh's claw and began savagely shoving it in his eating hole, making obscene slurping sounds and spraying slobbery beef bits all over the table. "You're lucky I was so fucking hungry." Ph'tll conceded once the Whopper was gone.

"Meh?"

"Yeah. We're cool." Ph'tll said halfheartedly, whipping away some stray drool. "We need to talk about what we're doing next, though. We got no car, no money, we're hundreds of miles away from Virginia, and we've got a deadline we already passed."

"Eeeeeh…" Meh contemplatively rubber the spot on his face where his chin should have been. "EH! Meh!"

"Go home, kill Gil, and skip town? I like that idea, but I don't thing it's gonna go over very well with Zyz."

"Meh."

"If we kill Zyz then that would just piss off the Council of Planetary Evaluations."

"Meh."

"Okay, let's think of an idea that doesn't evolve murdering Yuggothians."

"Meh?"

Ph'tll shrugged."If it helps, I guess we can kill humans."

"Meh!"

"What does killing Katy Perry have to do with all this?"

"Meh meh. Meh." Meh uttered in a low growl, balling his claws into fist.

"I know you hate her, but I'm not going all the way to California just to off some bubblegum pop singer or whatever. We've got way more important things to do."

"Meh meh."

"I know. I'm definitely not objecting to killing Katy Perry, but I don't want to do it, like, right now." Ph'tll paused and pulled a planner out of his flesh folds. He flicked off the body slime before opening it and wrote something down with the little pen that was clamped to the cover. "We'll do that next week."

Meh held a thumbs up but quickly dropped it when Ph'tll's cell phone started ringing, playing Coheed and Cambria's "Welcome Home". He slid it out of folds, bobbing his head to the tune, and took a quick glance at the caller I.D.

"Awww… fuck."

"Meh?"

"It's Gil."

Meh recoiled.

"Yeah. I know. Look, don't panic. Alright? I'll talk to him. Straighten shit out. We'll be cool."

Meh shook his head.

"We have a good excuse, okay? We're lost in Massachusetts. We ran out of gas. We…"

"Meh?"

"We have a perfectly good reason to be in New England."

"Meh?"

"We'll tell him…uh…we'll tell him there was a kick-ass sale on pool noodles in Rhode Island."

Meh gave him a reproving glance.

"Not a good idea, huh?"

The ringing stopped and Ph'tll's personal Siri (whom Ph'tll nicknamed Digi-Bitch) announced that he had one voicemail. Hesitatingly, Ph'tll played it. "If you guys don't call back in thirty seconds," the message said "I'm summoning a Tindalos hound to hunt you both down and kill you. Don't think I won't. I know a wizard."

"He sounds pissed."

"Meh."

Ph'tll speeded dial his boss's number, giving Meh a half glance. "Don't say anything, m'kay? I got this."

The phone rang twice before Gil picked up and immediately began shouting "Where the fuck are you guys?!"

"We…uh…"

"You've been gone all fucking night! Is it seriously this hard to buy a damn TV?!"

"Okay, Gil, calm down. Everything is okay. We are in control right now."

"In control of what? What's taking so long!?"

"We're…uh…we're in Massachusetts."

"What?!"

"Yeah. We're in New England."

"Why?!"

Ph'tll sat silent for a moment, giving Meh a "What do I say?" look. Meh only shrugged. Ph'tll continued "We're buying pool noodles…"

Gil was quiet for a long minute, during which Ph'tll could almost hear him rubbing his forehead in annoyance. "What the hell are pool noodles?" Gil asked flatly.

"You know those weird foam tubes that ghetto humans play with in their bathing pools?"

Gil was silent.

"Well…we weren't really buying those. I lied. We were abducted by satanic terrorist and dumped here in Kingsport."

"Ph'tll, stop talking. It's like with every word you say, you sound dumber and dumber still." Gil sighed. "Did you at least get the TV?"

"N…no."

"Dammit, Ph'tll. Look, Zyz called me about an hour ago and tore me a new one about this fucking TV, alright? He's beyond pissed, but he's still giving us a chance. Come back home with a television before seven this evening and Zyz and I will will forget this whole ordeal and everything can go back to normal."

"Well, there's a problem. We don't have a car."

"What do you mean you don't have a car? What happened to it? "

"It ran out of gas."

"Then get some gas."

"We don't have money."

"You don't have money?"

"Yep."

"You left without money?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

"Don't ask me why. I just didn't bring any fucking money."

"I sent you to a buy a TV, you fucking moron! You need money for that!"

"I forgot, alright? Don't be a dick."

"Go to a bank then."

"I don't have an account."

"I meant rob a bank, dumbass."

"I can't. I already went to the one bank in town and, let's just say, I made a bad first impression."

"Then make a second bad impression. By robbing the bank!"

"Dude, you don't understand. There's this guy—a fucking giant or whatever—who works there. He already kicked my ass once. I really don't…"

Before Ph'tll could finish, Gil started filling the line with hysterical laughter, loud enough that Meh could hear it even without the speakerphone. After waiting a moment, Ph'tll realized it would be a while before Gil would stop guffawing, so he set the phone on the table and waited.

"You know, that's not really funny." Ph'tll asserted, annoyed.

"That's fucking hilarious!" Gil chuckled.

"No it isn't! Look man, we're seriously in a pickle here. No car! No money…"

"You got a gun?" Gil asked through his dying laughter.

"No. Well…yeah. It's in the car."

"Then get the gun, carjack someone, then go steal a TV. Any TV. Just make sure you get out of Kingsport before the heat goes up, alright?"

"Alright. There's not to many humans here anyways. Should be easy enough."

"Meh!"

"What was that, Lassie?" Ph'tll joked in answer to Meh.

"What the hell did you say?" Gil asked, baffled.

"Meh?"

"Meh said something and I said 'What was that, Lassie?'. It was a joke!"

"Meh?"

"What?"

"You know, 'Lassie'? It was an old human show with a dog that everyone could understand even though all it ever did was bark. It was pretty dumb, but then again it was produced by humans."

"Dammit, Ph'tll. Can you not go four minutes without making a pop culture reference?"

"I went five minutes once without making a pop culture reference. That should count."

"Meh!" said Meh, whipping out a nine millimeter Glock from his flesh folds. From a side glance, Ph'tll could tell Meh scared the shit out of the Mexican woman from the way she flew out the door.

"Wait! You had a gun this whole time?! You could have shot that dude!"

Meh took a look at his gun then back to Ph'tll. He shrugged.

"What the hell is going on?" Gil asked.

"Meh's got a gun!"

"Meh!"

"Oh good! You gonna finally gonna off Ph'tll like I've been wanting to do for three-hundred years?" Gil buzzed.

"Dude!"

"Mehmeh!"

Gil laughed. "I'm joking, alright. But seriously. If you don't want to get turned into dog food when you get home, I suggest you hurry up and get that TV."

"Whatever you say, asshole."

"Oh! And one more thing: Don't fuck this up."

Ph'tll scoffed. "When have I ever fucked anything up?"

There was silence on the other end of the line, during which Ph'tll could practically hear Gil shaking his head-thingy in disapproval. He reiterated "Don't fuck this up." He abruptly hung up, leaving Ph'tll relieved.

"Alright." Ph'tll sighed. "You heard Mega-Douche. We need a car."

He was barely finished speaking before Meh was already pointing out the nearest window to a scuzzy looking '01 cherry-red Mustang with a deep gash going down the right flank. It sat parked at the curb on the other side of the street. Ph'tll gave it a reproving glance then blurted "I Don't like it." He then pointed in the opposite direction at a white car sitting about a half-block away. "How about that one instead. It looks classy."

"Meh?" He said pointing in the likewise direction.

"Yeah, that one. But it's not a Lexus, it's a Corvette."

"Eh. Meh."

"No, dude, it's a Corvette. I kidnapped a dude driving a Corvette once! I would know what a Corvette looks like!"

"Meh!"

"Fine! I'll take a closer look, but that's only gonna prove my point." After squinting hard (despite his total lack of eyes) at the distant car, Ph'tll recoiled in surprise and admitted "You're right. It is a Lexus. Yeah, let's not get that one. I wouldn't be caught dead driving one of those."

Moments later, the Yuggothians were outside watching their quarry from around the corner of the Burger King. They would have just busted open the Mustang's window and hot-wired it had it not been for the fact that the car's owner was still in the driver's seat, listening to One Direction at half volume. Not only did the repulsive racket of a modern boy band keep them from getting any closer, but committing grand theft auto while someone was still in the auto was something that neither Meh nor Ph'tll had any experience in. Taking this car would require finesse, so the duo took to plotting a swift and discrete theft.

"Okay," Ph'tll began. "How bout we   
pretend we're cops, ask to give him a breathazizer…"

"Meh."

"Right—A breathalyzer test—we'll give him a breathalyzer test and when he steps out we just hop in bail."

Meh shook his head.

"You got a better idea?"

"Meh. Meh meh meh meh meh meh meh. Meh meh. Meh meh eh meh. Mehmeh. Meh."

"That's too convoluted. I don't want to do that."

"Meh?"

"We got to focus on being subtle. If we make too much of a ruckus, then we risk alerting the cops and we won't be able to steal our TV…cause we'll probably be in jail or something."

"Eh." Meh agreed.

"Look. There's no one around. Let's just go over there, kick that guy's ass until he gives us the car and we'll get a TV in the next town over. You got the gun, dude?"

Instead of a verbal answer, Meh just lightly tapped Ph'tll on the top of his head-thingy with the butt of the Glock. Ph'tll snapped his faceless face around to beam annoyed colors at his A-Mi-Go (Expect that pun more often. It's not that funny—I know—but it's annoying as fuck. And I think it's funny to annoy you with wordplay).

"Did you just hit me with a gun?"

"Meh."

"I know you only tapped me, but you tapped me with a gun!"

"Meh!"

"That's dangerous! Guns are not toys! They should only be used to for carjacking and murdering humans."

"Meh." Meh added.

"Did you seriously just say 'nigger' on a public forum?"

"Meh."

"You said it first. I would never, ever say 'nigger'. I don't like offending my niggaz, and I've known some pretty cool niggaz."

"Meh meh meh meh. Meh."

"Oh my Ghroth, you're racist! Shame on you, you bigoted mother fucker!"

"Meh!"

"You're right. I do kill humans, but I don't go and target specific races. Why? Cause I'm not a dick. I hate all humans. Equally."

Meh scoffed and waved aside the conversation. "Meh?"

"Sure. The gun loaded?"

Meh cocked the gun in a way that called to mind all those cheesy-ass Steven Seagal flicks. He handed it to Ph'tll who nodded in approval.

On Ph'tll's mark, they both ran across the street, stopping at the Mustang's driver side and busted in the window with a swift elbow strike. The guy (wearing a man-bun and jorts, by the way) screamed aloud in terror as the alien leveled his Glock at his forehead.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE CAR!!!" Ph'tll spat. Meh rounded the other side and jerked open the passenger door, squirming his fat ass into the seat. Man-bun-jorts-guy turned and screamed some more upon seeing another alien.

"DON'T HURT ME!" He squealed. "PLEASE, I HAVE A GIRL…"

Ph'tll fired a few rounds into the air, momentarily deafening everyone in the vicinity. "BITCH, DOES IT LOOK LIKE I CARE?!?! I SAID GET YOUR PUSSY ASS OUT OF THE MOTHER FUCKING CAR!!!"

Meh buzzed aloud and slapped a claw on the dashboard, prompting yet another squeal out of jorts guy. "DON'T KILL ME!" He barely fought back as Ph'tll grabbed him by the back of the shirt and pulled him out of his seat, throwing him to the street. He kicked jorts guy in the gut, who whimpered and curled in like a snail.

"You gonna call the cops?!" Ph'tll dared, waving the nozzle of his gun inches from the guy's nose.

Eyes and lips squeezed shut, jorts manbun guy shook his head in a really pathetic way, forcing Ph'tll to kick him in his tightly packed balls.

"Good. You rat on us, and I kill you and your whole fucking family." Before jorts guy could beg anymore, Ph'tll skittered into the car and almost instantly sped away, engine purring all the way down Kingsport's main avenue. The radio was still blasting One Direction.

"Meh." Meh groaned.

"Yeah, I know. This music is giving me a brain-ache. Do me a solid and…" Before Ph'tll could finish, Meh was already working his claws around the radio with the same determination of a starving lion ripping the flesh off a zebra. He soon had it hanging on by a couple wires, which he quickly severed with a jerk of his nipper, silencing the gay, prepubescent bullshit.

Ph'tll breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"Meh."

"We'll buy a new radio later. Maybe we'll buy some Ozzy or Coheed and Cambria along with it."

Meh snorted in apparent disgust.

"Hey. Don't talk shit about Claudio Sanchez. That guy is an amazing musician and a beautiful vocalist. Have you never listened to 'Delirium Trigger' or 'Mother Superior'? He is fucking epic. . . hair not considered."

"Meh."

"Whoa!" At the shock of Meh's criticism, he almost stopped the car. "Never compare Coheed and Cambria to a boyband! That would be like…like, comparing Slipknot to Stone Sour."

"Feh. Meh."

"Aw, shit. I just remembered: we need money."

Meh only shrugged.

"Think that guy—the one we knocked the fuck out of—would have any cash on him?"

Meh looked at the driver, beaming the colors of disapproval. "Meh."

"We need the money. I mean, if you think about it, we're either gonna rob that fag again or rob a, I don't know, a Walmart? A RadioShack? Point is: we're in deep, so we might as well go deeper. And that's a true life lesson. You take that to heart mah niggah."

Meh rubbed his forehead and let out an sigh. He gestured for Ph'tll to turn around, buzzing "Meh eh."

"Yeah!" Ph'tll cheered, cutting the wheel sharply to the left. "Let's go do more felony!"

Seconds later, Ph'tll was back where he was two minutes ago, assaulting jorts-man-bun-guy (who didn't move from his spot in the middle of the street to no surprise) by trying to wrestle his jorts off his thrashing legs.

"NO! DON'T RAPE ME!"

"SHUT UP, DUDE! I JUST NEED YOUR WALLET!"

"PLEASE! I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY!"

With a jerk, the jorts came right off the guy's feet, leaving his his shaved legs and abnormally long penis (Yeah.) to the open air. The dude curled up and started bawling as Ph'tll started going through his wallet. Unfortunately, all he had were two dollars, a condom, and a twenty dollar gift card for Starbucks. Plus, oddly, a few Japanese paper bills. Seriously, what the fuck?

Pissed that jorts-man-bun-long-penis-guy had no money, Ph'tll started repeatedly kicking him in the crotch, yelling "YOU CHEAP MOTHER FUCKER!" At one point he stopped and turned to Meh and, with a smile asked, "You want in on this? I'm having a blast!"

Meh, hanging out the driver side door, only gave him a worried look. After a few awkward and probably sexual glances, Meh tapped his wrist in the "time's up" gesture.

"Awww. Come on! I wanna kick this guy's ass some more."

Meh shook his head.

"Please leave me alone." Jorts guy whimpered.

"SHUT UP, BITCH!" Ph'tll emphasized with a kick in the balls. "Alright I'm good. We can go now."

And they were off, leaning jorts-man-bun-long-penis-probably-homo-guy crying in the middle of the road with no pants and no one to help him or comfort him. That day, his mind was damaged beyond repair and he lived his life from there on out as a recluse who was haunted by the cruel words spat at him by those two alien monsters who mercilessly assaulted him and left him behind half naked and bleeding. Two years later, he succumbed to the voices in his mind and committed suicide, leaving no family to mourn.

But who the fuck cares, right?

 


	6. Da Fuck?

Every Tuesday evening, Gil would occupy himself by sitting in the kitchen and eating rocky road ice cream in a very sad attempt to drown out the fact that he lived with three of the most obnoxious Yuggothians in history and an assortment of chattering brains. And every so often he would end up caught in a pointless conversation with Bill the Retarded Refrigerator, the not-so-miraculous talking refrigerator who was created by some dumb-ass (surprisingly not Ph'tll) who thought it was a good idea to install an AI chip in a fucking refrigerator of all things. Sadly, it wasn't even a good AI. The end result was, well, retarded; a fridge that doesn't even know how to chill food. And that damn thing decided talk about corndogs today.

"Are corndogs a combination of corn and dogs, Mr. Gil?" He asked.

"I don't know." Gil groaned, shoveling a teaspoon of ice cream into his anus-like mouth.

"Are dogs eat-able?"

"I don't know…And its pronounced 'edible', Bill."

"Edd-ah-Bill?"

"'Edible'. Bill, look, just shut up."

"Okay!" Bill responded, chipper as ever.

"That boy isn't right." Sighed 23-7Y, the Conservative Brain-in-a-Jar. "He's dimmer than a liberal hop-head."

(Oh, forgot to mention. 23-7Y is a brain in a jar—I'm pretty sure you've guessed that already—who spends his days sitting on the dining room table, bitching about millennials, democrats, Muslims, and pretty much anyone who isn't a white male Christian Republican over the age of forty. What his original name was or why they adducted him or why they keep him in the dining room within earshot, not one of the Yuggothians could say nor really care. But there he is, a disembodied conservative guy. . .in a jar.)

"No one asked you, 7Y." Gil snapped.

"I'm just saying, if Bill is the future of our county, then may the good Lord save us because we're all doomed."

Gil face-palmed. "Okay, first: Neither Bill nor I give a fuck about this country. I mean, for Ghroth's sake, we're aliens. Aliens who mean to kill all of humanity. You know this. Your argument is completely invalid here. Second: Bill is a fucking appliance! I don't understand how he's gonna ruin America if he's confined to our kitchen."

"You ungodly creatures just don't understand! Millennials are going to be the undoing of everything hard working, blue-collar Americans have labored to create!"

"I think you're getting a little off topic."

"What's a millennial, Mr. Gil?" Bill cooed.

"Good question." Gil beamed. "A millennial is a whiney, hypocritical douchebag who vapes and wears obscenely tight pants."

"Amen!" 7Y exclaimed.

"Oh shut up. You close minded, Bible-thumping, scrotum faced Conservatives aren't any better."

"How dare you! If Donald Trump heard this he would send your terrorist loving rear end to Guantanamo Bay! If not, God would surely smite you!"

"You know, before the last election, I remember you talking shit about Trump." Gil said snidely.

"I don't remember that. You're lying."

"I have that conversation on tape."

"You recorded me?! That's a blatant violation of our God given Constitution! How dare you?!"

Gil rubbed his temples, trying to keep his temper in check. "Again: I am an alien. I don't care about human rights. And, just for the record, God isn't real. If he was, I'm certain he didn't write your Government's rule book."

"Blasphemy! You heretic!"

"You know what? I'm done with this." Why he didn't think of this earlier, he wasn't sure, but Gil finally resolved to unplug the vocalization unit from 7Y's jar and finally shut him the fuck up.

"What's a Trump, Mr. Gil?" Bill asked.

"Do you know what an Oompa Loompa is?"

"No."

"Well, he's orange and pudgy but, like, forty times as off putting."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Gil's horrendously outdated flip phone (Readers under the age of twelve are probably asking "What the fuck is a flip phone?". Fuck you. Don't ask. You're making me feel old.) started ringing from somewhere in the depths of his flesh folds, startling him. He answered "Hello?"

"What the fuck?!" Zyz buzzed from the other end.

"What the fuck you mean 'What the fuck'?!"

"What the fuck, man?!"

"Fuck you! What the fuck?!"

"What the fuck?! No no! Fuck you!"

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

"Fuck you! You know!"

"The fuck?! I know what?!"

"What the fuck! The fucking TV you douche!"

"You're still on that?! What the FUCK?!"

"I gave you a fucking deadline!"

"Blame Ph'tll!"

"Why?!"

"I sent him to get your fucking TV…"

"And?"

"And he's fucking gone!"

"What the fuck?!"

"He just didn't come back!"

"Why?!"

"Because he's PH'TLL!"

"What the fuck?! Fuck him!"

"I know! right?"

"What the Eff!" Bill chimed in.

"Bill! Shut the fuck up!" Gil snapped.

"Who the fuck is Bill?!" Zyz asked.

"My refrigerator!"

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

"Don't ask!"

Then, easing the tension, Zyz said gently "Gil."

"Yeah?"

"I WANT THAT FUCKING TV!"

"Fuck you!"

"No! Fuck you!"

"I'm calling Ph'tll!"

"Good! You've got till 7:00 tonight to get that TV!"

"Okay!"

*beep*

With the call ended, Gil set the phone on the table and leaned back to take a deep breath. A long, uncomfortable silence permeated until Gil finally said "Damn…that was intense."

"Uh-huh." Bill agreed.

"Well, I'm not gonna like this, but it looks like I'm gonna have to call back King Jackass." Gil griped as he dialed Ph'tll's number. The phone rang once, twice, thrice, a few more times and then it became apparent he wasn't picking up (probably too damn absorbed in that dumb ass ringtone of his). When the beep sounded, he left his voicemail, which he spoke slowly to make sure Ph'tll got the idea. "If you guys don't call back in thirty seconds. I'm summoning a Tindalos hound to hunt you both down and kill you." After consideration, he added "Don't think I won't. I know a wizard." hoping Ph'tll remembered Richard, the wizard to whom Gil owed forty dollars.

Seconds later, Ph'tll called back. Gil didn't want to give the dumb ass a chance to start off with some half assed excuse, so Gil immediately began the conversation with "Where the fuck are you guys?!"

"We…uh…" Ph'tll stuttered.

"You've been gone all fu

(Eh…you know what? We've already done all this shit. Remember that exchange? From the last chapter? No? Of course you don't. You don't pay attention you monkeys. That's why you're working at McDonald's now, because you didn't hear a word that Mr. Teacher said!

Well if you don't remember anything, go back to the previous chapter and, you know, look. I don't think I should have to say that. I mean, come on! If I get a PM of some douche asking me "WTF dood? What was with the cut out dialogue?" then I'm gonna hunt that guy down and give him the answer personally… with my fists.)

So, anyways, after laughing his ass off for four minutes straight at Ph'tll getting floored by a man-ape, Gil concluded the conversation and ended the call.

"Was that Ph'tll?" Bill asked.

"Yeah."

"Tell him I said hi."

"I can't. I just hung up."

"Tell him I said hi!"

"What did I just say?! No!"

"Telepath him!"

"I'm not telepathic, Bill."

"You're not?"

"No."

"I thought all aliens were telepathic."

"No, Bill. That's like assuming all refrigerators have moisture control."

"I can't control moisture."

"There. See? Now you understand."

Gil's phone started ringing and for a split second he thought the house dumb ass was calling back until he saw the caller ID.

"Is that Ph'tll?" Bill asked again.

"No, it's Jerry. I'm guessing he's reporting in from the Middle East." Putting the phone on speaker and setting it on the table Gil answered "Hey, Jerry. What's shaking? Found anything worth putting in the weekly report?"

"Dude, I need you to pick me up. NOW!" Jerry whisper-yelled, sounding way more sober than he usually does.

"Uh…what?"

"I have to leave right fucking now man! The shit hit the fucking fan! Dude, I'm fucking über screwed!"

"Jerry, look, calm down. Where are you?"

"I'm hiding in an empty barrel right now…in a market in Yemen. They're gonna kill me dude!"

"Who?"

"Damn Arab people. They're fucking pissed man! They're trying to kill me!"

"Why?"

"I DON'T KNOW!!" Jerry buzzed, briefly breaking his whisper. "I just said some stuff and they said some stuff and I couldn't understand them and…and…Do they think I'm Jeff Dunham? Do I look like Jeff Dunham?!"

"No. You don't. Why does that even matter?"

"You've never watched any of his shows? He's got this puppet, okay, and it's like a dead terrorist or something…But…but that's not important! I need help!"

"Look, I can't go all the way over on the other side of the ocean in under a day. I…"

"I'M GOING TO DIE, GIL!!!"

"Jerry, it's gonna be okay. I know a guy. He lives near Yemen and he can help you. Alright? Just get to his house as fast as possible. His name's Ahi Bah and he lives…"

"Hell no! I'm not getting out of this barrel! They're fucking EVERYWHERE! What part of that did you not hear? I leave this barrel and I'm a mother fucking goner!"

"Be cool."

"No! You be cool! I'm so fucking scared, man, I don't know what I'm gonna fucking do! I. Am. Fucking. SCREWED!!!"

Rubbing the theoretical bridge of his theoretical nose, Gil sighed. "Alright. Stay in your goddam barrel. I'll call Ahi Bah and ask him to pick you up. Just shut the fuck up and don't act like too much of a spaz when he shows up."

"What should I expect when he does show up?"

"Lanky, ugly, old guy. Probably gonna have a turban and a George R. Martin style beard. He might be naked."

"What?"

"Yeah. He's a nudist."

"That's weird. What else?"

"He…might…put a gun to your head…"

"What?! Oh no! No no no nonononono…!"

"Jerry! Cool it! He has to, okay? Your gonna be going through the streets in broad daylight. He has to make you look like prisoner."

"A prisoner escorted by a nude old guy? Fuck you, man!"

"Just do it! Okay? When he gets you to a safe place he'll buy you a one way ticket back to Virginia. Just keep it together and do NOT fuck it up for yourself!"

"Okay. Okay." Then he whimpered "I really need some weed right now, man."

Remembering all the shit going down with Ph'tll, Meh, and Zyz, Gil said "Yeah. So do I."


	7. Oh, Dear Fucking Gods! The Story’s Getting Worse!

Jerry waited inside his dark and horribly cramped barrel for two hours, three hours, four, five, five minutes, and then that five minutes somehow became negative thirty days through some random time anomaly, and then went back to four hours, which stretched into about six hours, and then the fucking time anomaly again, and that's about when Jerry lost track of time. All in all, he could have guessed he was in that barrel for a total of forty minutes, but Father Time had just shat on him so many times he…well…he just got shat on…so…

 

The barrel reeked not only of the mound rotting bananas on which he uncomfortably sat, but of Jerry's own djifht'fjjfh-ssifn—which is kinda like Yuggothian sweat, but is more or less urine, so Jerry is literally piss/sweating himself, but what's he gonna do? Go out to take a leak and get shot in the face by some Muslim lunatic guy? Hell naw.

 

At about 3:00 (How does he know the time? His internal clock. No, really! He has a fucking analog clock surgically implanted in his body. It's kinda cool), a rap sounded from outside the barrel, followed by a raspy voice. "Hello? Are you Shrdvahczyufggjjbbbbb? Answers to Jerry?"

 

Jerry stiffened. "Uh…no…this is…Adam West." He said doing a surprisingly good Adam West impression. "I'm not Jerry at all. Nope. No need to murder an alien infidel, because there is no alien infidel to murder." Then remembering that West wasn't a Muslim, he added "Allah Akbar." and then hummed the theme to the '70s Batman show.

 

"Nice try." The voice said. "Adam West is dead." 

 

"What?! Really? The fuck dude! Since when?"

 

"A year ago. I read about it on Twitter." 

 

"I didn't know Twitter existed in the Middle East." 

 

"What the fuck did you think? That we're a bunch of backwards savages that have no clue how to use the Internet?"

 

"Yeah. Kinda."

 

The lid of the barrel cracked open a few inches, startling the already terrified alien. From beyond the crack peered two squinty eyes rimmed in wrinkles and scraggly eyebrows. "You don't look human to me," the man said gazing at the mushroom-crab-thing wearing a mock ponytail made from longer antenna and a black T-shirt that read "I SURVIVED THE MIDDLE-EAST!". "So, yeah, I guess you're Jerry. Hi. I'm Ahi Bah."

 

"You're Ahi Bah?"

 

"I'm Ahi Bah."

 

"Gil's guy?"

 

"I'm not his fucking 'guy', alright? But yeah. I'm Ahi Bah."

 

"Okay. Are you naked?"

 

"The fuck kind of question is that?"

 

"I was informed you might be in the buff."

 

"Yeah. I'm nude."

 

"And you don't get stoned to death for that?"

 

"Naw, man. Only women and infidels get stoned here."

 

Just as he said this, Jerry could hear some guy in the distance—probably a street goer—yell "Yo! Ahi! We're stoning Martala the Whore this evening! You want in on it?" 

 

“You know I do! Save me some rocks!” Ahi answered, momentarily turning his attention away from Jerry.

 

“Yeah! We’re gonna kill a bitch!”

 

“Yeah!” Then, turning back to Jerry after what’s-his-face stoning guy left, Ahi said “That was Mustafa. He may not seem it, but he’s a cool guy.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Jerry agreed robotically.

 

“He’s my neighbor. We’re watching Game of Thrones together.”

 

“While you’re nude?”

 

“No! Not while I’m nude! That’s gay! People kill you here for being gay!”

 

“Look, are we leaving or what?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Moments later, Ahi—in his wrinkly birthday suit, ding-dong and everything hanging all over the place—was escorting Jerry through the Yemen streets at gun point, humming some kind of Arabian pop song and idly window shopping as they passed the myriad of fly and camel infested markets. He was also eating one of the half-soiled bananas Jerry was sitting on. Jerry, meanwhile, held his claws in the air and occasionally made poorly acted pleas for his life in attempt to make this shit look convincing. But I mean, come on. If you have at least half a brain, then nothing about a nudist Arab escorting a multi-limbed fucking alien fungus monster through the goddam streets while he was eating a brown banana was even in the slightest bit convincing.

 

Nonetheless, all the passerby’s seemed convinced.

 

After a while, Jerry grew bored of feigning distress and resorted to internally laughing at the bearded dudes in dresses and women dressed as ring wraiths who casually went about shopping and buying raw goat meat from guys who looked and smelled like shit.

 

“Hey, Ahi?” Jerry asked at length.

 

“What do you want, infidel?”

 

“Why do all the women here look like the grim reaper?”

 

“They have to dress like that. It’s the law.”

 

“You mean they can’t, like, walk around in hot pants and a training bra if they wanted to?”

 

Ahi scoffed. “Hell no. They’d be dead quicker you’d believe. Besides, it’s for their own protection. If they did walk around dressed as an American, they would eitherget raped or arrested… and then raped… and then killed.”

 

“Brutal. So you’re chicks can’t walk around naked, but you can?”

 

“I have several layers of political immunity.”

 

“Ah. I see your government is as corrupt as ours.”

 

“Which one? Trump’s or Yuggoth’s?”

 

“Aren’t they all deplorable assholes?”

 

They shared a very loud and very noticeable laugh, which turned a lot of turbaned heads.

 

… … …

 

Two hours later, the duo made it to Ahi’s house, all the way on the other side of Damascus (Or Yemen, or whatever the fuck it is. Is Yemen a city or a country? I forgot.) Like everywhere else in Arabia, it looked very. . .Arabian, complete with. . . curtains and. . . A hookah, sitting over there, next to a Muslim praying rug, or. . .whatever. (If it hasn’t become apparent yet, I don’t know shit about Mid-Eastern cultures. I mean, I’m American. I’ve never been to, you know, all that over there. Who would? Would you?! I don’t want to get beheaded. Plus, I’m a Lovecraft fan and all Lovecraft fans are xenophobic assholes, you know, like Lovecraft. If I offended you with this fucked to rant, then, well. . . What do I say? You’re reading the wrong fan-fic.

 

(But I mean, seriously though. I’m not racist. At least, not completely. I like Islam peoples. A few of them are some of my closest friends, even though I’m really fucking scared of them. Yesterday, I thought one of them was carrying a bomb into the school, but turns it was just an iPod. Long story short, I called the cops on him and then they arrested him and then they found out he had no bomb, and then they arrested me for calling 911 on false pretenses. So now I’m in jail, writing on AO3.

 

(We all make mistakes, right? No? Fuck you.

 

(The fuck am I doing? I’ve been taking so much, you missed the part with the Super-Lion and the Elvis Presley impersonator. It was so fucking funny, man. One’s head ended up in the other’s asshole. Try to guess who was who.)

 

After watching in horror as that mentally deranged Elvis guy stuck his head in that random divine four-headed anime Super-Lion’s butt, Jerry was escorted to the basement where Ahi claimed he had a literal door to the U.S. Jerry didn’t believe him, which is kinda surprising considering that Jerry himself came from Yuggoth-568L to Earth via a teleportation tower.

 

“You don’t believe I have a teleportation device?” Ahi asked on their way down the stairs, sounding disappointed.

 

“I never said that, dawg.” Jerry defended.

 

“But you were thinking it.”

 

“How the fuck did you know?”

 

“I can read minds. Because I’m cool like that.”

 

“That makes no sense. Nothing you’ve done so far has made any sense.”

 

“That may be true… but I’ve got drugs, and nothing has to make sense when you have drugs.”

 

“Wise advice.” As a fellow stoner, Jerry could understand. “Wait! You have drugs?! Why aren’t you sharing?!”

 

“Oh, I’ll share. All you have to do is reach in my pockets in grab ‘em.”

 

“You’re not wearing any cloths! How…” Jerry’s head brightened in both realization and disgust. “Ugh! God, I fucking hate you!”

 

And they both shared another laugh.

 

… … …

 

The basement only contained two things (everything else was probably invisible), both being weird machines out of a sci-if movie. Or, at least, from Jerry’s backyard on Yuggoth. One was a massive metal ring standing on end atop of a very techo-y looking dais. Numerous wires were woven into the half-assed looking structure and some stretched between it and the ceilings and walls, looking like a weird sci-fi spider web.

 

“So that’s the uh…that’s the tele-porter?” Jerry asked, pointing at the devise that was obviously a tele-porter.

 

“Yeah.” Ahi said. “But I like to call it a ‘space-bridge’. It just sounds cooler.”

 

“You mean… like from ‘Transformers’? That kind of space-bridge?”

 

Brows furrowed, Ahi said “Uh… no. Not like ‘Transformers’. That doesn’t even make sense. What does this space-bridge have to do with Transformers?”

 

“You’ve never watched ‘Transformers’?”

 

“No. I don’t watch American entertainment. It’s too lowbrow for my taste.” Said the stereotypical Arab standing naked in the basement with a stoner alien ripped off from another, much more well written sci-fi story.

 

“Well… I don’t watch Arab entertainment because it’s too… I don’t know? Sandy? Like the ‘The Big Bang Theory’. That show sucks and it’s all your fault.”

 

“‘The Big Bang Theory’ is an American show! I don’t…I don’t even understand this! What the fuck made you think that it was from the Middle East?!”

 

“I don’t know man. I’m not high right now, so I’m a little on the slow side. So what’s that thing over there?” Jerry pointed at the other devise I mentioned earlier, which in short, was a thing that looks suspiciously like a Japanese super-robot, which sported a very ugly red-and-gold color scheme and a flaming sword so incredibly epic the Thundercats would have said “Damn!”

 

“That? That’s just my robot assistant. I call him Debby, but for whatever reason he insists on being…”

 

“I AM AWESOME ROBOT!!!” the robot suddenly boomed through it’s Power-Ranger-esque mask, filling the room with it’s incredible voice.

 

“Uh, yeah. Awesome Robot.”

 

“That’s a lazy name.” Jerry said.

 

“I had him imported from Japan…”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“Don’t interrupt. I got him from Japan cause I thought…”

 

“I AM AWESOME ROBOT!”

 

“Oh my god… cause I thought an anime mecha would make a good guard for the space-bridge, but as it turns out he only…”

 

“I AM AWESOME ROBOT!”

 

“Shut up! Turns out all he does is stand there and shout his name.”

 

“Why would you need to guard the space-bridge when it’s in your basement?”

 

“I AM AWESOME ROBOT!”

 

“The Turkish mafia.” Ahi said. “Right now they’re in this mad rush to scrounge revolutionary technology for their own gain. They know who I am, so odds are they suspect I have both a space-bridge and a super robot. And, well…”

 

“I AM AWESOME ROBOT!”

 

“You don’t wanna get jacked?”

 

“I AM AWESOME ROBOT!”

 

“Exactly! I mean, your an alien with advanced tech, so you would understand.”

 

“I AM AWESOME ROBOT! I KICK ASS!”

 

“Oh, yeah. Totally. I wasn’t here for this, but Gil was telling that, back in the ‘30s, some dude stole our sacred Black Stone.”

 

“GO! AWESOME ROBOT!”

 

“Oh, really?”

 

“TRANSFORMATION MODE, BABY!”

 

“Yeah. I mean, the dude just fucking stole it! No one even knows why! It’s like he saw it sitting in our front yard and was like ‘I’m gonna steal this rock for no reason!’”

 

“AWESOME ROBOT!”

 

“Allah, that’s terrible. Some people are just the worst. Did you ever get it back?”

 

“I…Am…AWESOME ROBOT!”

 

“Yeah, but Gil and Ph’tll had to hijack, like, five different mail trains before they found it. But I mean, seriously, who steals someone’s sacred stone?!”

 

“I AM…”

 

“DAMMIT DEBBY! SHUT THE MOTHERFUCKING FUCK UP!” Ahi yelled at his unbelievably annoying robot.

 

“DON’T YELL AT ME!”

 

“Well, maybe if you learn not to talk when I’m trying to talk, then I wouldn’t yell at you! Ever thought of that?”

 

“WHY YOU GOTTA BE A DICK?”

 

“Why you gotta live here?”

 

“YOU BOUGHT ME!”

 

“Then do your job!”

 

“I AM DOING MY JOB!”

 

“No you’re not! Your standing there being a bitch!”

 

“YOU WANT ME TO SHOW YOU A BITCH, CAUSE I’LL BE A BITCH!”

 

“You already did when you were masturbating in the kitchen last week…and you didn’t wash your hands!”

 

“WHAT THE FUCK?! WHY ARE YOU BLARING THIS OUT IN FRONT OF A GUEST?! I THOUGHT THIS WAS CONFIDENTIAL!”

 

“And I though I had clean dishes in my cupboards, until I found you rubbing all over my plates with your semen covered fingers!”

 

“I DON’T HAVE SEMEN! I’M A ROBOT! AND FOR THE RECORD, I WASN’T JERKING OFF, I WAS OILING MY CROTCH!”

 

“You didn’t deny it the first time.”

 

“I DON’T HAVE TO DENY ANYTHING! AND DON’T YOU LOOK AT ME LIKE I’M THE STRANGE ONE, WHEN YOU’RE CONSTANTLY NUDE! IT’S NOT NORMAL!”

 

“It’s perfectly normal!”

 

“NO IT’S NOT!”

 

“Yes it is!”

 

“FUCK YOU!”

 

“Whatever.” Then turning his attention back to Jerry, Ahi continued. “Sorry you had to hear that. Anyways, you probably have to be leaving now.”

 

“Yeah. I haven’t had a hint of coke in over eight hours, so I’m real itchy. I want my coke.”

 

“I would offer you some of mine, but…”

 

“Yeah. Gil told me not to accept candy—or drugs—from strangers. Especially when they’re naked. Which, by the way, gives me a good reason to, you know, get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible.”

 

“What? Am I making you comfortable?”

 

Sarcastically, Jerry shot back “No. Your wiener is hanging out and your masturbating robot is standing an uncomfortable ten feet away from me, but I’m not uncomfortable at all. Seriously, if Ph’tll were seeing this crazy shit…” He gestured between the nude Arab and the random super robot. “He would probably die laughing, come back to life, and then die again from a humor hernia. Speaking of Ph’tll, I wonder how he’s doing.”


End file.
